Red Velvet Revenge (9 page)

Nine

Mel and Angie both rose from their seats and leaned on the rail to get a better look at the man sitting in the back of the convertible waving to the fans.

From what Mel could see, he was average in height but built strong. As he tipped his head back, she saw that he had rugged features: a nose that appeared to have been broken, a square jaw, and eyebrows that rode low on his brow, making him look like a man who had something to prove.

As the crowd began to chant his name, he lifted his black hat and waved it over his head. Mel caught a glimpse of neatly trimmed black hair and then he smiled. It was as if someone had ignited a sparkler. Ty Stokes’s face lit up when he smiled, and the crowd went crazy in response.

“Oh, my,” Angie breathed from beside Mel.

“Indeed,” Mel agreed.

She glanced down the balcony, but the men didn’t seem as impressed with Ty. Not even Marty, who was the biggest rodeo fan—well, the only rodeo fan—amongst them.

“Look at his clothes,” Marty said. “That boy is bought and paid for. There is not one stitch upon him without a label, and you can bet your fanny those labels paid dearly to be there.”

“That’s good business,” Tate said, although he didn’t sound overly impressed.

“Huh,” Marty scoffed. “Everyone’s a sellout.”

“I imagine in this sport, you have to make as much money as you can while you can, because life in the saddle belongs to the young,” Tate said.

They all watched as Ty’s car passed. He had an entourage of three men sitting with him, and, just as Marty had said, his car was draped with rodeo promoters’ logos.

A high school marching band was next, and then the local veteran’s group came by, drawing huge cheers of appreciation from the crowd for their service to the country. Angie stood up to give her loudest two-fingered whistle, causing the soldiers to laugh and wave up at the balcony.

The local 4-H club went by on their float, which was shaped like a giant cow, and then a few more marching bands passed.

Lastly, a big powder blue Cadillac convertible brought up the rear. Sitting high on the back and waving to the crowd were Slim and Tammy Hazard. Slim wore a dove gray Stetson on his head with a white Western shirt embroidered with black roses on the yoke and the sleeves. Tammy wore a pretty ruffled sundress in matching gray and black.

She was tossing candy out of the convertible, much like the bevy of beauties who had gone before her.

“She must have been a rodeo queen at some point, don’t you think?” Angie asked. “Look at that wrist motion she’s got going. She can huck that candy fifty feet out, making it look effortless.”

“And the wave,” Mel agreed. “She’s got the beauty-queen wave down, like Cinderella at Disneyland.”

“Hey, Slim!” Marty hollered. “Up here! We’re up here!”

Marty was hanging over the railing, trying to get his hero’s attention. Mel caught Tate’s eye, and he grinned. Although neither of them would ever say as much to him, it was cute to see Marty so enthusiastic.

Slim was just passing below them when he happened to glance up. He had to lean back to see them, and as he did a horrific
bang
sounded. Slim fell sideways onto the back of the car, pulling Tammy with him.

From her vantage point on the balcony, Mel could see a red stain mar the black roses on Slim’s shirt. He’d been shot! The crowd was silent for a beat, and then the screaming started. Panic ensued below as people snatched their kids and began to run.

Slim’s driver was forced to stop or risk running over the fleeing mass of people. He climbed over the seat and manually lifted the convertible’s roof, hauling Slim and Tammy down into the seat while pulling the roof over them to block them from view. One of the women from the rodeo queen float was racing through the crowd, trying to get to the convertible.

“Daddy!” she was screaming. “Daddy!”

Mel realized she must be Slim’s daughter. The sheriff
and several officers arrived and began to move the crowd to the side. The mass of people quickly thinned, and the convertible began to move. Honking incessantly, it cleared a path, then hopped the curb to go around a balloon vendor whose cart had tipped and was blocking the street.

The young rodeo queen caught up to the convertible and jumped in through the front window, hauling her big ball gown behind her, not even waiting for the car to stop.

“What the hell just happened?” Marty asked, looking dumbfounded.

“Someone shot Slim,” Mel said. She was trying to process it as she said it, but it seemed so unreal. Even having just witnessed it, it was unbelievable.

A wail of sirens broke through the sound of the panicked crowd. Two squad cars worked their way into the chaos. One stopped and began to manage the flow of people while the other went after the convertible. Mel hoped it was to give it an escort to the hospital.

She glanced at her friends and noted that they all wore the same slack-jawed expression of shock. Then it occurred to her that although they hadn’t heard any more gunshots, that didn’t mean the shooter wasn’t still out there—and didn’t they make some tasty targets sitting up here on the side of a building.

“Everyone inside,” she ordered. “Now!”

Her shout knocked them out of their stupor, and they clambered back into their rooms. Mel latched the door behind them and drew the drapes shut while Angie hurried across the room and opened their door. The men met them in the hall.

“I can’t believe someone shot Mr. Hazard,” Oz said. He sounded wheezy, as if he wasn’t getting enough air into his lungs. “I’ve never seen anyone get shot before.”

His bangs were hanging over his eyes in their usual thick curtain, and Mel was worried that he might be going into shock.

“Don’t freak out, Oz,” she said. “But I need to get a look at you and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he said. He sounded anything but.

“Be that as it may,” she said. She reached up and gently brushed the hair out of his eyes with her fingers.

Oz blinked. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the sudden light or because he had someone’s fingers near his eyes. She stared at his pupils until she was sure they weren’t dilated or rolling back into his head.

“You have pretty eyes, Oz,” Angie said from behind Mel. “You should show them off more often. I mean, look at the length of your eyelashes. It’s a crime for a dude to have lashes like that.”

“And they curl on the ends,” Mel said. “Totally unfair.”

Oz stepped back from Mel and began to frantically smooth his fringe back over his face.

“Now that we’ve established that Oz is not going to faint, maybe we should think about what we saw right before the shooting,” Tate said. “I’m sure the police will want to know if any of us noticed anything suspicious.”

“I was looking at Slim,” Mel said.

“Me, too,” Angie agreed.

“I was eating,” Oz said. “The last thing I remember was looking at my burger before I took a bite.”

Marty cleared his throat. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“About right?” Mel asked. “What were you looking at, Marty?”

“The parade,” he said, but he didn’t make eye contact.

Angie planted herself right in front of him with her hands on her hips. “What part of the parade?”

“Oh, fine. If you must know, I was looking at the rodeo queen float,” he said. “Those girls have a nice way about them.”

Angie snorted and turned to Tate, looking as if she was going to say, “Can you believe this,” but he was actively studying the pattern in the carpet beneath his feet. It was too bad for him, because he didn’t see the shot to his upper arm coming.

“Ouch!” He jerked his head up and rubbed his arm where Angie had slugged him. “What’d you do that for?”

“For not having your eyes where they belong,” she snapped.

Mel suspected it had more to do with him ogling other women, but she wisely said nothing.

“How was I supposed to know that Slim was going to get shot?” he asked.

“Listen, other than Oz, we were all watching the parade,” Mel said. “It doesn’t matter where you were looking”—she paused to give Angie a quelling glance—“but whether you saw anything out of the ordinary or not. Now, everyone think. Do you remember anything unusual or out of place?”

They were quiet for a moment as they each tried to recall the events as they’d seen them right before the
bang
of gunfire. One by one they shook their heads. With such a large crowd, Mel had a feeling it would have been extraordinary for any of them to have noted anything odd, but still, they had to try.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Angie asked. She sounded worried, and Mel knew exactly how she felt. They
hadn’t known Slim very long, but he seemed like a nice man, not someone with an enemy who would shoot him.

“Let’s go see what we can find out,” Tate said. He led the way down the narrow stairs to the small lobby below. They entered the Last Chance through the small side door provided and found the place unusually subdued in the aftermath of the shooting.

Delia from the front desk was there, and she looked wide-eyed and worried. Ever the gracious hostess, she hurried over.

“Are you folks all right?” she asked. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, we’re fine,” Marty said. He gave her a concerned look. “Are you all right?”

And just like that Delia crumpled into a heap of sobs and tears. Mel knew how she felt. After her father died, she had fought to maintain her composure, and usually she was fine, right up until someone asked how she was, and then she fell apart.

Marty gently took Delia into his arms and let her cry all over his shirt.

Mel and the others left him to comfort her and made their way to the bar to see if the bartender knew anything more about what happened.

With his salt-and-pepper mustache still waxed into curls, the bartender was wiping down the bar in a compulsive sort of way, leading Mel to think he was doing it more to comfort himself than because it needed cleaning.

Tate leaned on the bar and asked, “Excuse me, sir. We were wondering if there’s been any word about Mr. Hazard yet?”

The bartender looked up and offered his hand. “Folks call me Henry,” he said. He and Tate shook. “We heard on the scanner a few minutes ago that they’re almost at the hospital, but we’ve heard nothing since.”

A pall settled over the group.

“Did anyone see anything?” Mel asked Henry.

He shook his head. “Not that I know of. I assume the police will be questioning folks, but I haven’t heard anyone say they saw the shooter.”

“Who would want to shoot Slim?” Angie asked.

Henry shook his head. “Can’t say. He’s the heart and soul of Juniper Pass; without him there’s no rodeo. Without the rodeo, we’re a ghost town.”

A customer signaled Henry from down the bar, and he gave their group a nod before he went back to work.

“Is it just me,” Oz asked, “or are the rest of you getting a bad feeling about this?”

Ten

“What do you mean?” Angie asked.

“I mean, someone tried to kill Mr. Hazard,” Oz said. His voice was high, and although Mel couldn’t see them through the fringe of bangs over his face, she was sure his eyes were bugging.

“We don’t know that,” Tate said.

“Tate’s right. It could have been an accident,” Mel said. “Maybe someone just got overexcited about the parade.”

“And what—tried to let the air out of Slim’s tires?” Angie asked. “I’m with Oz on this. There is definitely a bad vibe about this.”

A commotion at the front door stopped their conversation as they all turned to see what the ruckus was about. In strolled Ty Stokes, the famous rodeo star. He had his entourage of three cowboys with him, and they kept close to him
as if they were a moving wall, separating him from the riffraff.

Even from across the room, Mel could feel the energy pour off of the guy like he was a movie star or a demigod. Ty made straight for the bar and took an empty seat where his handlers could circle him. While waiting for Henry to serve him, Ty glanced over the bottles along the back of the bar to check himself out in the mirrored wall. Obviously, Ty was his own number one fan.

“Hey, how about a little service here.” Ty smacked his hand on the bar.